


casual

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [156]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, hermann is rebellious with the intent to piss lars off, part one is pre first movie part two is post pitfall, uprising don't fucking look at these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Hermann has a unique way of dealing with Lars' presence, as Newt learns
Relationships: Hermann Gottlieb vs. Lars Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [156]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [221buckythesoldier](https://221buckythesoldier.tumblr.com/) asked: PROMPT regarding the rebellious Hermann post: I'm just imagining someone coming into the lab to tell Hermann that Lars is coming and Hermann's like "alright thank you" and immediately turns around and removes his blazer and sweatervest and flips his septum piercing from where it's hidden in his nose and Newt's just watching in complete shock and experiencing 5 emotions simultaneously and is just utterly and horrifically 10x more attracted to Hermann
> 
> based on [this](https://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/617863525346525184/i-truly-adore-rebellious-hermann-gottlieb-more) post by [newts-geiszler](https://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/)

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Newt groans, staring down at the sample in front of him. Yesterday, it was just fine—a healthy, blue tint to the membrane of the kaiju organ (he’d call it a spleen but, like, do kaiju even _have_ those?), but when he pulled it out of the sample fridge a few minutes ago, it gave a sort of limp burble, and it’s greenish-grey and even _Newt_ will admit that the smell isn’t pleasant.

Hermann, who’s gotten up to make himself a cup of tea at the electric kettle, gives a derisive huff. “You should have put it in preservative,” he says; the _I told you so_ implied. Newt scowls at him, because, yeah, fine, whatever, maybe he _did_ but who’s the fucking kaiju expert here, huh?

“This hasn’t happened before,” he grumbles. “I once left a sample out for _three days_ and it was fine!”

“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you also keep containers of food without the lids on in the specimen fridge?” Hermann asks; snidely; and. Okay. Okay Newt will concede on that. _Internally._

He widens his scowl. “I hate you,” he says, and pokes at the maybe-maybe-not-spleen with his scalpel. It lets out another, more pathetic, burble, and oozes some yellowish-greenish liquid. Kaiju pus? Eh, probably not. 

Hermann rolls his eyes. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” he says, and pulls out a teabag, switching the electric kettle off and pouring the water over it; sets it back on its stand and picks up the tea, making back for his desk, his steps and cane creating a familiar rhythm. Newt watches after him covertly and tries not to think _too_ much about what would happen if one of these days he made Hermann’s tea for him and sidled up to his desk and fluttered his eyes and said, _Hey, Herms, I made you some tea._

He yanks his gaze away from the back of Hermann’s stupid fucking jacket with its stupid fucking patches on the arms and back to the sample before him and huffs at his own stupid thoughts. Hermann would probably shriek at him and whack him in the shins with his can and file another complaint to the HR department. Honestly, Newt’s not sure that HR even _exists_ at this point, given that Hermann’s filed over fifty complaints with no result—either that or they’ve just decided to ignore them.

_Anyway._

It takes a few minutes of rooting around in the drawers beneath the table he’s at, but he eventually finds the pair of nice, thick, and keyly, _snappy_ yellow gloves that he likes to wear when he has to dispose of his samples. Technically, the ones he wears for dissection would work just fine, but having to get rid of his hard-won samples always makes him a bit sad, and the snappy yellow gloves are his favourite ones, so they help balance that out a bit.

The possible spleen isn’t very heavy, so once he pulls his gloves on with a satisfying _snap_ he just picks it up and hefts it into the bin they use for biohazardous materials that gets taken to be neutralised once a week. Newt’s pretty sure that what actually happens is that the kaiju bits and bobs get sold off to the black market but whatever, he still has like, _some_ funding because of said black market so. Yeah.

He nudges the bin closer to the wall with his toe, and gives the discarded organ a long, forlorn look before he turns around, going back to the specimen fridge. That specimen may be a lost cause, but he’s still got a few more so—

“Newton,” Hermann calls, “would you mind coming over here?”

“Uh, sure,” Newt says, hopping over the line. He’s still wearing his gloves, but, for once, Hermann doesn’t comment. “What’s up, dude?”

Hermann clears his throat. “I just received word from Tendo that, ah,” he pauses; pursing his lips. “My father has come to the shatterdome for a surprise tour, and will be coming to see the K-Science laboratory in fifteen minutes.”

Newt nearly chokes. “He _what?_ ” he hisses. “That—that fucking—!”

Hermann rolls his eyes at him. “Yes, yes, I know how much you hate him, Newton, now _listen,_ will you?” 

Newt opens and closes his mouth silently for a few moments, and then says, “Fine.”

Hermann nods. “Good. Now—do you happen to have any of those gaudy faux diamond studs in your desk drawer? Or eyeliner?”

“ _What?!?_ ”

“I managed to find my septum piercing in the back of my desk drawer,” Hermann says, shrugging out of his jacket, and then leans his cane against his desk and sits down in his chair and fucking _pulls off his sweater-vest._

This time, Newt _does_ choke, and sputters a bit, because, fuck, his _brain is flatlining,_ this is the most casual he’s seen Hermann in—

And then Hermann tosses his sweater-vest onto the desk, and says, “Pass me the septum ring, will you? It’s next to my tea,” and begins to unbutton his shirt collar. One, two, three, the skin beneath it pale, his collarbones sticking out slightly—Newt rips his gaze away, cheeks burning.

Hermann lets out a put-upon sigh. “I have to do everything in this damn lab myself, don’t I?” he grumbles, and snatches the septum ring up, putting it in with a deftness that speaks of years of practice, and rises, grabbing his cane and striding over to Newt’s tiny, cluttered desk, leaving Newt gaping after him.

After a few moments, he manages to regain some semblance of motor-control, and goes scrambling after Hermann, who’s already found a set of studs and a set of hoops and put them in and is currently applying liquid eyeliner. “What are you _doing?_ ” Newt squeaks.

“My father will be here in,” Hermann checks his watch, “approximately five minutes.”

“ _That doesn’t explain anything!_ ” Newt half-shrieks, trying very, very, _very_ hard to not make it obvious just how much he can’t stop himself from staring at Hermann who looks absolutely _fantastic._

Hermann finishes applying the eyeliner, and sticks it back in the desk drawer. “Newton,” he says again, very slowly, “my father will be here in five minutes.”

“I know that—you already said that, you asshole! That doesn’t explain the—the—the piercings! You’re _always_ getting on me about how they’re unprofessional!”

“They are,” Hermann replies, “that’s the point. I dislike my father more than I dislike being unprofessional. Now, tell me—” he unbuttons his sleeves; tugs them up; stands to his full height. “How do I look?”

 _Holy shit,_ is Newt’s first thought, followed quickly by, _fuck I want to kiss him._ His thoughts are going five-hundred miles a second, and his skin is buzzing with the electricity in his blood, and he’s simultaneously freezing cold and burning hot and stupidly, _stupidly_ attracted to his lab partner who’s standing here, with two sets of earrings, a septum piercing, eyeliner, shirt unbuttoned to near _indecency,_ sleeves rolled up, hair mussed in a way that looks like someone has been running their fingers through it—

“You look—you look fine,” Newt says, mouth cottony.

Hermann nods. “Good,” he says, turning away from Newt, which is good, because Newt is still losing his mind, maybe, just a bit, jesus _fuck._

A second later, the lab doors open and Lars Gottlieb strides in. “Geiszler,” he says, and then spots Hermann and his nose wrinkles. “ _Hermann,_ ” he practically spits.

“Hello, father,” Hermann says, smiling widely at him, “how good to see you.”

Lars’ face twists into a foul expression. “Well,” he says, “I see that Geiszler has been a horrible influence on you. I doubt there’s much I need to see here.”

“No, no, you ought to stay,” Hermann says, cheerfully. “Come, let me show you the latest version of my model of the Breach—Newt, be a dear and go fetch us something from the mess, why don’t you? I think we’re going to be here a bit, and we wouldn’t want an _esteemed_ member of the PPDC to get hungry.”

Newt nearly trips over his feet. “Sure!” he says, voice cracking, and scurries out into the hallway. If he has to lean against the wall for a moment to try and regain his breath, which has gone _painfully_ short in the past ten or so minutes—well, then, that’s between him and the empty hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: ""You thought I didn't love you?" Hermann sounds so lost. "No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it. And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never- I'm so sorry""

“Newton,” Hermann calls, from the store-room adjacent to the lab, “where did you put the phials of kaiju blood?”

Newt squints; stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember. “Uh…try in the smaller specimen fridge,” he replies, “should be next to that sample of skin from Scissure, I think.”

There’s a few beats; and then Hermann’s foot steps start up; the familiar _one-two-tap_ , and he reappears, a phial in hand. “You ought to clean the storage room out more,” he informs Newt, sternly. “I think there’s mould growing on the walls behind the larger fridge.”

“I cleaned it the other day!” he protests. Hermann gives him a Look. “Okay, I _dusted_ and threw out the stuff that was already there before we moved the stuff in,” he admits. “But—but I swear, I’m going to clean it out _soon._ ”

“You’re horrible,” Hermann grumbles. “If I get some sort of poisoning from inhaling spores, I’m going to force you to pay my medical bills.”

“Horrible,” Newt repeats, in a bad version of Hermann’s accent.

Hermann sets the phial down on his desk, and props his cane against the desk and sits down; turns his computer on. “I hate you,” he says, crisply.

“You love me,” Newt grins; and snaps the yellow plastic gloves he’s wearing against his skin. Hermann rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling; now; just a bit; and Newt’s heart aches to see it; wishes Hermann would grace him with it more often.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hermann drawls; and—he does, but not. Not the way Newt loves him, he’s pretty sure.

Newt clears his throat; trying to get rid of the ache, and says, “By the way, Herc said that your dad was going to stop by later—bastard thinks he can come make nice with us now that we were proven _right_ like you said we would be.”

“Oh, lovely,” Hermann groans. “Do you happen to know when?”

“Uh…not exactly? Herc said it would probably be in the evening though—” Newt stops. “Wait a _minute,_ are you going to do the _thing?_ ”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermann says, and types a bit faster, not picking his gaze up from the keyboard. Newt rolls his eyes; stops his work on Otachi’s lymph-node; sets the scalpel down and rocks back on his feet, pulling his gloves off with a snap and gesturing as he speaks.

“The _thing,_ ” he repeats, “the—the thing. You know, the one where you act like you’re, uh, like you’re me or something to piss off your dad? Come on, you know what I’m talking about—you used my _eyeliner,_ Herms.”

Hermann stops typing, finally; and his face scrunches up into an _expression._ “It’s not a _thing,_ ” he mutters. “I’ve only done that _once._ ”

“Because your dad’s only come to the lab once before,” Newt shoots back. “Now, are you gonna do the thing? Because you should totally do the thing. Actually, be _extra_ about the thing because it’ll be extra salt to the injury of the fact that his fucking Wall didn’t work. C'mon, Hermann, I think I have some eyeshadow in my room.”

“…you do?” Hermann asks; finally looking up.

Newt nods. “Yeah!” he says, and then, with typical Geiszlerian flair, says, “I can put some on you, if you want, and I think I’ve got some lipstick too, somewhere, you’ll look wicked,” and nearly has a minor heart attack right there, what the _fuck_ brain to mouth filter??

Thankfully, Hermann doesn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll go change into something more casual and then meet you in your quarters in…half an hour?”

“Sure!” Newt squeaks, and watches Hermann power off his computers and pick up his cane and leave the lab. “Oh, god,” he groans, once he’s alone. “I’m so fucked.”

Half an hour later, after tidying up his stuff, he’s pacing his room, various makeup items he managed to dig out, as well as multiple pairs of earrings, spread out on his—for once, neatly made—bed, trying to not freak the absolute fuck out and burst into flames.

There’s a knock on his door. “Come on in!” Newt calls, and cringes at the way his voice cracks.

The door opens, and Hermann steps in, and Newt tries very, very hard not to stare at him. It’s just—Hermann’s wearing a loose, white button-up with the sleeves rolled up and two of the buttons on his collar popped, and fucking _skinny-jeans._ Newt has long accepted the fact that he’s got, like, a raging crush on the physicist, but, jesus, he’d forgotten how fucking _good_ Hermann looks in casual clothes. Not that he doesn’t look aces in his normal clothes.

“You’ve got quite the collection,” Hermann says, gesturing to the bed, and Newt blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality.

“Uh. Yeah,” he says, and rubs the back of his neck. “I used to get all done up for gigs with the Rabbits, and I kept most of it. Um. Where do you want to start?”

“Eyeshadow and earrings, I think,” Hermann says, decisively, and Newt hauls his chair from the tiny desk in the corner to the side of the bed so that Hermann can sit down and get a better look at them. After a few moments, Hermann chooses a pair of double-helix earrings, and a cuff-and-chain earring, and puts them in. “How do they look?” he says, turning to Newt.

Newt snorts. “Nerdy,” he says.

Hermann nods. “Good,” he says. “I think I want the purple eyeshadow.”

“Can do,” Newt says, and grabs it, and a brush, and pushes some of the other makeup items to the side so he can sit on the bed. “Okay, close your eyes…”

After a few moments, he’s got it on; and he pulls back. “Alright,” he says, and squints, looking around for the little hand mirror he’s like, ninety percent sure he got out—ah, there it is. “Your father’s going to go red,” Newt says, and he hands Hermann the mirror to let him inspect it. “It’s gonna be _great._ I should record this.”

“Do refrain,” Hermann says, “if only because I don’t particularly wish you to get threatened with a lawsuit.”

Newt laughs. “Lovely,” he says.

Hermann gives a hum. “You know, I think it’s missing something,” he says. “Perhaps…ah, Newton, do you mind if I ask you a favour?”

“Sure,” Newt says, “whatever you need, Herms. For the greater good of annoying your dad, I’ll do, like, just about anything.”

“Would you mind…ah.” Hermann swallows; glances down at his hands. He almost sounds…nervous. “Applying lipstick and kissing the collar of my shirt?”

_Holy shit fuck oh my god,_ screams Newt’s brain. His mouth, though, thankfully, for once, is on his side, so instead he just shrugs casually and says, “Sure, dude, I mean, if it’ll piss off your dad,” and grabs a stick of the dark, red lipstick, applies it with a surprisingly even hand, and kisses Hermann’s collar, leaving behind a vibrant red mark.

“…yes,” Hermann says; half-strangled, for some reason. “Yes, that will…piss off my father.”

“Sweet—hang on, my phone’s ringing,” Newt says, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

“Mister Wall himself is on his way to the lab,” Tendo says; voice slightly crackly, because the reception in the ‘dome is _shit._

“Alright, thanks, Tendo,” Newt says, and then sticks the phone back into his pocket after the other hangs up. “Alright,” he says, to Hermann, now. “Your dad’s gonna be in the lab in a few, so we had better hustle.”

“Right, I—yes,” Hermann says, seeming to shake himself out of whatever daze he’s in; picks his cane up and rises.

The walk to the lab isn’t so much of a walk as it is a near-jog, keeping in mind Hermann’s leg, and they barely manage to make it there before Lars does.

“Father,” Hermann greets, looking up from where he sat down at his desk just ten seconds ago, but acting as if he’s been there for hours, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lars’ face twists, and Newt, perched on the side of Hermann’s desk, mourns the fact that he isn’t able to take a photo of it. “Hermann,” he says, and then, disdain dripping from his words like venom, “Doctor Geiszler.”

“Newt,” Hermann corrects, before Newt can, and smiles beatifically at Lars.

Lars makes a pained noise. “I will not… _lower myself_ to your level,” he sniffs. “Bad enough that I have to interact with _you._ ”

“Aw, you pissy that we were right and you were wrong?” Newt grins. Lars’ scowl grows wider.

“I am _here,_ Hermann,” he says, refusing to look in Newt’s direction, “not to listen to you or the man with whom you’ve been—” and here his face makes an even _more_ twisted expression, and he gestures, first at Hermann’s collar, and then, without looking, at Newt’s face.

It takes a moment before Newt realises what he’s implying. “Oh, no,” he says. “No, no, no, nope, uh. No. Hermann doesn’t. Hermann wouldn't— _I_ wouldn’t, I mean, jesus christ, dude, what the fuck, man—”

“Newton, shut up,” Hermann hisses. His ears are red.

Newt absolutely doesn’t, much to his own and Hermann’s horror, both; just barrels on. “No, nope, we don’t, like, we don’t even get along, I don't—”

Hermann’s hand slaps across his mouth. “I think you have better places to be, yes?” he says, to Lars, loudly; and, for once in his fucking life, Lars actually takes the hint and gets the fuck out of there. Once he’s gone, Hermann pulls his hand away. “What was _that?_ ” he hisses. “Newton, you—what you said to my father—”

“Your father thought we were fucking!” Newt half-shrieks; because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. “I couldn’t let him just—”

“Just _what?_ ” Hermann says.

“Just _think_ that!” Newt exclaims. “I mean, Hermann, we—you and I, we—we’re not. We’re not _like_ that.”

“Why _not?_ ” Hermann says; and Newt has to fucking _laugh_ at that; long and high.

“You’re asking _why?_ ” he says. “Well, first off, you don’t like me, Hermann, so jot _that_ down, and secondly, I can't—I can’t be around you without, without—” He snaps his jaw shut before he can finish his sentence. Before he can say, _without wanting to scream, what can I do to be good enough so that you love me the same way I love you?_

Hermann’s face shutters. “Oh,” he says. “I…alright.”

Oh, god. Fuck. He’s getting up, he’s going to leave, fuck fuck _fuck._ No. No absolutely not he can't—he can't—

“I gotta go,” he half yells, and bolts out the door before Hermann can even stand up all the way.

He manages to make it back to his room before he has to run to the bathroom and throw up, the vicious hurt humming brightly in what remains of the Drift at the back of his mind.

The next two days are the weekend, so he has an excuse to stay in his room instead of going into the lab and possibly running into Hermann. Unfortunately, staying all alone in his room for hours and hours isn’t exactly _good_ for him, and by Sunday morning, he’s convinced himself that Hermann’s going to hate him forever and never want to talk to him and it’s going to be 2017 all over again, and—fuck, he can’t do this. He’s running circles around himself, worrying about what-ifs and working himself up and thinking over what he said to Hermann, implied about Hermann, about Hermann not caring about him when he knows full well that’s not true, not true in the slightest, because, if anything, Hermann cares too much for his own fucking good.

Newt feels _horrible_ about saying that, and he can only imagine how awful Hermann feels _hearing_ it. He has to go apologise.

Thankfully, the halls are pretty empty, so he doesn’t run into anyone on the way to Hermann’s room. It only takes a single knock before the door’s being pulled open. “…Newton?” Hermann says, staring at him. “What are you doing here?”

Newt freezes; the words drying up in his throat; eyes wide; and Hermann must recognise the look, because he sighs, and says, “Come in, you can talk when you’re ready,” and herds Newt inside, surprisingly gentle.

After a few minutes of standing, silently, Newt croaks, “I came to say sorry. For—for what I said the other day. And—and leaving.”

Hermann nods. “Alright,” he says. “I appreciate the apology, but I’ll admit, I’m still… _confused_ as to what you were on about.”

“I thought you didn’t love me and then when your dad came in and started saying that stuff I freaked out because I thought you were going to be uncomfortable and then you were going to leave and I freaked out even more and had to leave before you could leave me,” Newt blurts.

“You thought I didn’t love you?” Hermann sounds lost; like he’s genuinely struggling to understand where Newt’s coming from.

“No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it’s just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it’s like my head…was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn’t be able to take it.” Newt swallows thickly; fingers fidgeting at his sides. “And I know that’s not an excuse, and I don’t mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” Hermann says; and sits down on the side of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, again. “I didn't—I wasn’t thinking, I just—I freaked out, and I _know_ I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’m _sorry._ ”

Hermann sighs. “Come sit down, Newton,” he says, patting the bed by his side; and Newt does, tentatively; stiffly, at first, but within moment, finds himself leaning against Hermann, tears streaming down his face; and Hermann folds him into an embrace. “You’re a ridiculous man,” he mutters, quietly, but his hand is combing through Newt’s hair, the action comforting. “I do love you,” he says, after a few beats. “I…I know I may not always show it, Newton, but I care for you just as deeply as you do for me.”

Against his best intentions, Newt snorts. “No you don’t.”

“Newton, I was in your _head,_ ” Hermann says; and the eyeroll is nearly audible. “Trust me when I say that it’s reciprocated.”

“…oh,” Newt says; dumbly; and Hermann lets out a quiet laugh.

“Yes, _oh,_ you idiot.”

“’m not an idiot,” Newt grumbles; voice still thick, but no longer crying.

“You absolutely are,” Hermann says. “Now, it’s almost lunch-time, and I’m peckish—what do you say we go get something to eat?”

“Alright,” Newt says; and then: “I know I already said it, but I’m sorry.”

“Show how sorry you are by paying for my lunch,” Hermann says. It’s not an _it’s alright,_ but Newt doesn’t expect it to be; doesn’t expect Hermann to just accept his apology straight off the bad, and that’s okay. He’ll do his best to make up for it, and hopefully, eventually, he’ll undo that horrible, vicious hurt that still throbs in the Drift.

Instead of saying that, though, Newt laughs, slightly. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
